


leave me wanting more

by tol_sirion



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Choking, Derogatory Language, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tol_sirion/pseuds/tol_sirion
Summary: It’s all he can do to laugh in breathless fucking agony, because Geralt isn’t doing anything other than hump him like a horny dog, too worked up to even try to get their clothes out of the way so he can get his cock anywhere near where either of them want it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 861





	leave me wanting more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kerasines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerasines/gifts).



> i honestly can't even defend myself at this point. the alternative title to this is _geralt of rivia is fucking feral_. everyone were so sweet on my last fic, thank you for your kind words and kudos! you inspire me every day to write more and push forward ❤
> 
> dedicated to [kim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerasines/pseuds/Kerasines), who inspired this ficlet and lets me yell incoherently about geralt and jaskier every time i think about them.

One moment they’re apart, each one entertaining their own crowds, pretending they’re not looking at each other even as gravity or even fucking Destiny keeps trying to pull them back together, and the next;

Jaskier doesn’t know what’s come over them, except that he wants Geralt’s cock in him and he wants it _now_. Geralt is no better, panting like a fucking bull as his hips keep rocking, thrusting his cock against Jaskier’s ass, too many clothes in the way, his hands gripping bruises against Jaskier’s waist.

He spreads his legs, arms braced against the wall, and digs his nails into the furrows of the wooden boards, trying to get some sort of leverage.

It’s all he can do to laugh in breathless fucking agony, because Geralt isn’t doing anything other than hump him like a horny dog, too worked up to even try to get their clothes out of the way so he can get his cock anywhere near where either of them want it.

“Geralt!” Jaskier finally snaps, finally moving a hand down so he can yank on the laces keeping his breeches in place. He pushes them down over the swell of his ass, and Geralt makes a sound like he’s been wounded, hand immediately gripping and squeezing, pulling on his cheek to bare him properly.

Jaskier can only groan, resting his forehead against the wall and pushes against his hand. “Yes, yes, come on,” he mutters. His cock is aching, leaving wet smears every time the tip brushes against the wall.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunts and drops to his knees.

Jaskier is going to come like this, without even getting a cock in him. Just knowing Geralt is on his knees, ready to get his mouth on him, is enough to make is cock twitch and leak steadily. To think he, a bard with little to his name, can get Geralt of fucking Rivia to go down on him like this… He feels powerful, lost in the trip of it all.

Geralt’s mouth presses hotly against the small of his back, leaving open-mouthed kisses over one asscheek, before both hands spread him open and Geralt’s tongue drags over him, eager and wet.

Jaskier moans and his legs buckle, leaving Geralt to keep him upright until he can find purchase again. They’re badly hidden, pressed into an alcove anyone can pass at any time, and Jaskier prays everyone is either too drunk or busy doing their own fucking to notice they’re missing or hear them going at it.

Geralt just mouths at him like this is the best thing he knows, like all he’s ever done in his life is be on his knees eating someone out, servicing them with a wicked tongue and clever hands, groaning as he works his tongue in, soothing tense muscles into relaxing enough to allow him entrance. His fingers grip tight, and Jaskier reaches a hand back, gets a good grip on Geralt’s hair to keep him right where he is.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier spreads his legs even more, trusting Geralt to keep him in place. “There you go, _good boy_ , oh–”

And it gets Geralt practically snarling, easing a finger in along with his tongue. Jaskier laughs again, tugging on his hair, just enough to get the angle he wants. It gets wet easily, Geralt is practically drooling, making him all messy with his spit, and the drag is only a little uncomfortable as Geralt works his finger in and out. Jaskier can easily overlook it, and he eases his grip on Geralt’s hair to get a grip around his cock instead, stroking loosely, still bracing himself with his other arm. He doesn’t want to come until Geralt is fucking him, but he can’t deny himself a little pleasure, drags his fingernail over the slit and shudders at the sting.

Another finger presses in with the first, and Geralt works them quickly, spreads them so he can get his tongue up between them, huffing and panting and groaning as he licks and sucks and kisses. Jaskier can’t help but hiss a little, because they’re moving a little faster than they should be with just spit, but he doesn’t care, all too eager to get to the main event. He’s always liked it to hurt just a little, anyway. Likes the thrill of it all, and the risk of getting caught only makes it better.

Geralt eases back, but keeps working his fingers in and out, and spits. Jaskier moans, wishing he could see it, see Geralt without any inhibitions, but he’s got the wrong angle and can only contend himself with sound and feel.

A third finger, more spit, spreading him open, and Jaskier groans and rocks back against them. He groans, all too pleased that they’ve been fucking on the regular because it means it doesn’t take all that much for him to fit Geralt’s cock inside of him. Geralt is absolutely shameless about his giant fucking cock now that they’ve been doing it for a while, but it took weeks and months of Jaskier coaxing and sweet-talking him into it in the beginning, weeks of fingering himself open and taking bigger and bigger toys procured from places he’s never revealed to his Witcher, Geralt always worrying about hurting him until Jaskier made him sit and watch as he took a toy bigger than him with ease.

Jaskier is still proud of that one.

It’s made Geralt lose all inhibition, at any rate – he’ll now get that particular toy out before they even fuck and ease it into Jaskier after Geralt’s come in him and made him loose and sloppy.

“That’s enough,” he finally grits out, forcing himself to stop touching himself so he doesn’t come, “Get in me, Geralt.”

“No.” Geralt says, voice hoarse like he’s been sucking on Jaskier’s cock rather than tonguing at his ass, and Jaskier cranes his head, twists, so he can look down at him. Geralt looks pleased with himself, and his beard is wet, lips red and swollen, looking by all means like he’s been buried face-first in a cunt. His cock is jutting out from his open breeches, ruddy and wet at the head.

“No?” Jaskier repeats, licking his lips, and Geralt smirks.

“No.” he repeats. “Not until you ask nicely.”

Jaskier… chuckles at him. Can’t help it, and he turns around properly and drops to his own knees, cupping Geralt’s chin, thumbing over his spit-slick beard.

“I don’t recall you being the one calling the shots,” he says and presses his thumb against Geralt’s lower lip. Geralt’s mouth drops open automatically, and Jaskier eases his thumb inside, dragging over his tongue and slowly fucks it in and out as Geralt closes his lips around it and sucks. “You’re going to fuck me. Use your cock like it was meant to. I’ll even let you come inside me, if you do.”

Geralt’s panting again, eyes a little wet with how much he wants it, and Jaskier presses down with his thumb to force his mouth open before leaning in to kiss him. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about where Geralt’s mouth has been, realized a long time ago he would do anything for this goddamn Witcher, stubborn as he is, and this is only half of it.

Geralt groans into the kiss, pushing into it, urging Jaskier back, but Jaskier breaks the kiss and pushes a hand against his face to stop him.

“No,” he says firmly, and Geralt stills, waiting. “Like this.”

He turns himself around and rests his upper body on the bench that is so helpfully placed within the alcove, rests on his knees and looks back at him.

“Well?” he says, when Geralt only stares, eyes hungry and bright. “Get on it.”

Geralt makes a sound that is halfway feral and grips his own cock, spitting on it and stroking himself to get everything a little wet. Jaskier reaches back and spreads himself open, and Geralt pushes into him in one long thrust that burns and aches in all the right ways, feels like the heavens have decided to come down upon them.

They groan in tandem, and Geralt doesn’t hesitate, just draws back out so he can fuck back into Jaskier, grips his hips and starts a choppy rhythm. Jaskier has to let go so he can grip at the bench instead, fingernails digging into the cushion and probably leaving scratches on the delicate fabric. He doesn’t really care, not when it feels so good to have Geralt’s cock back in him. Thinks he can die happy if he just gets to sit on it every day.

Honestly, the only thing that can top this is having his own cock in Geralt, the times when that is what Geralt needs. Jaskier is only all too happy to oblige when Geralt practically comes crawling to him to beg for it.

“Come on,” he urges around a moan. “Fuck me like you mean it, Geralt. I know you can do better than this.”

It works, his goading, and he doesn’t get a warning before Geralt is gripping him even tighter and jerking him back onto his cock, every time he thrusts in. Jaskier keens, knees sliding on the stone floor, and Geralt just keeps it up, hitching his hips until he gets the angle he wants.

Jaskier shouts, reaching a hand back to slap against Geralt’s hip. “Yes, yes, fuck, like that–”

“You talk too much,” Geralt grunts around his thrusts. “We’ll get caught.”

“Isn’t that half the point?” Jaskier says, grinning even as he’s practically struggling to breathe, gasping as Geralt keeps getting the good spot. “Knowing we could get caught, have so many – oh gods, keep going – nobles see how the mighty, _mm_ , Witcher of Kaer Morhen fucks his bard? How weak you are for me, and only me?”

He laughs only to hiccup when Geralt snarls and shoves him forward, gets him pinned in place and thrusting in barely there movements, keeping his cock in deep. Jaskier clenches down around him just to hear his breath stutter.

“I think you like it,” he continues only to gasp when Geralt leans over him and bites down on the back of his neck, practically scruffing him. “I think you want them to see. To know how you kneel when I tell you to.”

“ _Shut up_.” Geralt growls, dragging his teeth over the knobs of his spine, but Jaskier can feel how Geralt’s cock gives a kick, how he gets a little more frantic in his fucking, and knows he’s right.

Geralt fists a hand in his hair and pulls his head back, and Jaskier has no choice but to follow until they’re pressed chest to back and Jaskier is straddling Geralt’s thighs where he’s sitting on his knees. Once Geralt seems satisfied, he lets go of Jaskier’s hair, only to slide his hand over Jaskier’s throat, caressing gently. Jaskier has to squeeze his eyes shut then, gasping with each little push of Geralt’s hips.

“Do it,” he cajoles, covering Geralt’s hand with his own. “Come on, Geralt, do it.”

They’re both aware that Geralt could easily choke him, squeeze hard enough to steal his voice, to damage him properly. Jaskier also knows that Geralt would never, even if Geralt doesn’t always trust himself. They’re working on it, and it’s easier when Geralt is so caught up in his own pleasure he doesn’t think twice about everything.

“I want it,” Jaskier urges, “I’m so close, I’ll come.”

He really will, his cock is leaking all over his belly now, smearing the trail of hair with it. Geralt grunts and squeezes in warning, and Jaskier whimpers, just a little, at the implication.

He rocks in Geralt’s lap, fucks down onto his cock as best as he’s able, and Geralt bites down on his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Jaskier to pin him in place, and tightens the grip on his throat. Jaskier groans and melts a little in place, each breath harder to take, and Geralt rocks into him in shallow movements, grinding his cock in deep.

Jaskier shakes a little in his arms, and that seems to get Geralt going, because he squeezes harder and practically growls in Jaskier’s ear, dropping his hand down to curl it around his cock. Jaskier lets out a hoarse shout, squirming.

“Next time, I should make you sit on my cock in front of all those people, if that’s what you want so badly,” Geralt mutters. “Let them see what it’s like when you come all over yourself.”

Jaskier just laughs and shudders and comes, the heady combination of Geralt in him and on him, his voice, enough to push him over the final hurdle, along with Geralt’s hand tightening around his throat. He’s gasping out, little “ah, ah, ah’s”, and isn’t even finished dripping all over their clothes before Geralt is suddenly letting go, only to shove him forward.

Jaskier has to brace himself against the bench quickly, reeling from it even as Geralt takes a hold of his waist again and starts fucking into him rabbit-fast, chasing it through the way Jaskier is clenching down and shuddering. He leans over Jaskier, mouthing at the mark he’s left on his neck, his own little victory brand.

Jaskier feels half in a daze, his cock blurting out more come as Geralt practically fucks it out of him, and it’s both _too much_ and _not enough_.

“Geralt,” he bites out, finding his voice, and reaches back for him, gets a hand in his hair again and pulling.

“If you want to actually come tonight, now is your chance.”

Geralt has learned enough by now to know the threat is very real and increases his efforts. Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he could, but Geralt has always desired to prove himself.

“Oh–” He’s practically being shoved like a ragdoll, so sensitive every time Geralt fucks into him. “That’s good, that’s so good,” and he’s grateful for his ability to chatter even when Geralt is splitting him in half, “you’re being so good, Geralt, you fuck me so fucking well, _shit_ –”

It’s the praise that does it. Geralt loses it with a half-feral sound that’s far too loud and wrestles Jaskier to the floor, pushing in deep as he comes.

Jaskier is well and truly pinned and gasping as he feels Geralt coming inside him, filling him up so well he imagines it gets his belly swollen with it all.

Geralt’s groaning low in his throat, nuzzling at Jaskier’s temple, and Jaskier sighs out.

“So good,” he murmurs. He manages to free a hand from underneath himself and pets at Geralt’s arm, his hair. “Treat me so well, don’t you?”

Geralt hums, hips still rocking a little, like he can’t bear to stop quite yet. Jaskier would happily let him, but he also knows that if they haven’t been caught yet, it won’t be very long until their luck runs out. He pats Geralt’s arm, then squeezes when Geralt doesn’t let up.

“It’s time to go,” he says. “I don’t actually want anyone to catch us well and truly fucked.”

“Hmm,” Geralt mutters, finding his voice. “Maybe I do.”

Jaskier tilts his head to look at him, and Geralt actually smiles, vague and dopey, but present. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asks, and Geralt shrugs, but finally eases out of him and away. Jaskier stretches and gets to his feet so he can pull his breeches up, and he’s quick to do up the laces. He’s about to leak Geralt’s come all over himself in a minute, and it’s not always as pleasant when he has to move and do things while it happens.

Geralt doesn’t move until Jaskier squats down in front of him and strokes his cheek, presses kisses to his slack mouth. “You did better than I could ever have asked,” Jaskier tells him, fond and proud. “Thank you. Let’s go home, hmm? Get you out of these stuffy clothes.”

“I’d like that,” Geralt acquiesces, and lets Jaskier help him to his feet and put his clothes back in place.

When they’re decent, Jaskier peers to each side as they leave the alcove, but there’s nobody present at the moment, thankfully. They’ve been graciously given a room in the court palace, and Jaskier is adamant on getting a bath going as soon as possible and helping Geralt get his bearings. These little trysts always leave him not quite able to put himself together, but Jaskier likes to think he’s become sort of an expert on all things Witcher, these days.

Besides, it leaves him ample time to really show Geralt how much he adores and appreciates the things he does, without Geralt finding him overbearing. It’s a win-win situation, all around.


End file.
